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Mort: Aaah! Julien: Aaah! Mort: Aaah! Julien: Aaah! Mort: Aaah! Julien: What in the feets are you doing? Mort: I...I...I... You...You...You... Julien: You...You...You... are hearby banish-ed from my kingdom... FOREVER! (He looks around) Maurice! Maurice: Ever... ever... Wait. You mean that Mort is exiled? For eternity? Julien: Forever or for eternity, I'm flexible. But the no-feet-touching law must be of zero tolerance.

Skipper: Well, that's five minutes of our lives we're not getting back. Kowalski: Until I get my time machine fully functioning.

Julien: Wait! This is a very serious proclamation that I am proclaiming! See, it's posted right here, on the plastic volcano. And anyone who dares to be touching my beautiful feets shall be banish-ed from my kingdom... FOREVER! Maurice: Ever... ever... ever! Julien: What are you doing? Maurice: Echoing you for dramatic effect. Julien: Oh, nice. I like it.

Skipper: Negative, Marlene! We're not accepting new recruits at this time. Marlene: Come on, have a heart. Skipper: No, thank you. Besides, Mort would never pass our psych screening. How Rico slipped through is still shrouded in mystery.

Marlene: Wow, he's violent, but cured. Skipper: Like a Christmas ham.

Skipper: Operation: Luftballoons is a go.

Skipper: Cheese and crackers! Struggling will just make it worse! Julien: What? I can't hear you over my frantic and panicked struggling!

Julien: Attention, people. I am hereby decreeing that my new no-feet-touching decree is a decree I am un-decreeing forever.

Julien: That's it! Groom me! Groom me like you mean it! Give me all the grooming you've got!

Skipper: Recruit, I'm gonna mold you like a lump of wet clay. Marlene: Yeah, have fun with that. Mort: Oh, goody! I'm wet clay.

Skipper: Suit up, men! [to Mort] You too, Private. Private: But I'm Private! Skipper: All right, he's Private Number Two. Mort: I like number two!

Private: Say it with me: They're just feet, not love. Mort: They're just feet, not love.

Julien: There, it is time to be beholding the shiny, clean, and perfectly polished royal... Mort: Feet! [Mort tackles Julien's feet] Julien: No, Mort! Not the minty-fresh clean feet!

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